


this some grown man shit

by lennynards



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-22
Updated: 2019-08-22
Packaged: 2020-09-23 20:17:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20346097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lennynards/pseuds/lennynards
Summary: Draco in the tenth circle of hell: Muggle bureaucracy.





	this some grown man shit

**Author's Note:**

> FOR #11
> 
> TITLE FROM "DIAPER MONEY" BY THE LONELY ISLAND

It was meant to be a quick errand.

Of course, Draco had already filed all the necessary paperwork through the proper channels. Or so he had thought, until Astoria found several envelopes shoved into their letterbox, each bearing more red lettering than the last. It was especially surprising because Draco didn’t even know they _had_ a letterbox.

“What do you think ‘final notice’ means, dear?”

He would have thought it meant they’d stop sending letters, but apparently there were multiple final notices. “That Muggles are idiots,” he told her, taking all the letters and planning to bin them. They had no need for Muggle correspondence.

Astoria kept hold of one though, and after she was through with it, forced it in his face. “I thought you registered Maurice and Alistair?”

“Of course I did.” The paperwork had been nonsense. Who knew Muggles were so fond of ticky boxes? 

But the letter in her hand said otherwise, and one of the ones bearing _FINAL NOTICE_ said that unless he reported to the council office immediately, the birds would be confiscated. And his farm would be shut down.

So now he was stood in the world’s longest line because some fool had misread his application and thought he was farming pea crops instead of continuing to house two unobtrusive and beautiful peacocks.

And apparently the Muggle council office didn’t take kindly to proof of said peacocks, because the man at the door said, “Sir, you can’t bring that in here.”

Draco ignored him and held the door open for Maurice. He had copies of his original application in triplicate and living proof that Maurice was not, in fact, a vegetable, and he would not be stopped until he received an apology. And the proper licensures for the birds. Obviously.

**

“Is that thing real?” a woman asked, pointing at Maurice with a disgusted look on her face.

The queue had moved just enough that Draco was lined up next to a new person in the maze that snaked through the room. 

“No,” he told her, just as he had told the three people who had already asked, “it’s a very good hollygram.”

She stared at him but said nothing. Eventually, she faced away from him, fanning herself with her paperwork. 

**

“I’m sorry,” the woman behind the counter said, “you’ve brought the bird as proof?”

“Obviously.” He’d just said that; there was no need for her to repeat everything he was saying.

Diane — she was wearing a name tag, which Draco thought was in horrible taste, as it was red and clashed with her shirt and also, what adult in their right mind would wear a name tag? Muggles were an abhorrent people; he was trying to be tolerant in his life but honestly, they made it so _difficult_ — stared at him and then shook her head. “Let’s have a look at your paperwork.”

He pushed it across the counter and resisted the urge to check his watch. Half the morning was gone, he knew that much.

“Oh dear.” Diane clucked her tongue. “This is your previous application.”

“Yes.” Draco didn’t like her tone. “The letter you sent said to bring it.”

“Right, of course. But you’ve also got to bring a new, updated application along with.”

“But the initial application wasn’t wrong!” He kept his voice level, but only barely.

“It was denied,” she pointed to one of the lines, “on account of how you wrote pea crops.”

“I _didn’t_ write pea crops. Who would write pea crops on an application for animal licensure?! Peas aren’t animals!”

“I know,” she said. “That’s why it was denied.”

Draco balled his hands into fists and resisted the urge to ask to speak to her supervisor. In his head he could hear Astoria telling him to not to cause a scene. When Scorpius had a tantrum, she would pet his hair gently and hum soothing nonsense. It would be nice to have someone like that there with him now; he only had Maurice, who simply sat on his foot and settled in for a nap.

“May I fill one out now?” he asked through gritted teeth.

“Sure can. Hang on.” She hit a black clicking tool several times and then Draco startled when a loud machine started up nearby. Diane waited until the noise had stopped and then handed Draco several warm papers. 

He reached for the pen that was chained to the counter — why it was chained there, he had no idea; perhaps Muggles were sick of them rolling off the counter and onto the floor — but she clucked her tongue and said, “Oh no, you can’t do that here.”

“Well then where am I meant to do it?”

She gestured to the room behind him. “I don’t know, out there? But you can’t hold up the queue.” 

“But I already waited in the queue. I’m at the front.” 

“You weren’t prepared. Sorry, love.” She smiled at him. Draco had the distinct impression she was not sorry at all. “Next!”

Draco stood his ground as a man lumbered forward. “I need to speak to someone about this letter I received.” 

Diane reached for the letter he was holding out. After a minute, they both turned and glared at Draco. 

“I was here first,” he said, though he knew he’d already lost the battle.

“There might be some extra pens over there,” Diane said, shooing him away. Draco gave her one last withering glare and turned away. He would show her; he’d be back with everything in five minutes.

“Oi,” the man yelled. “You forgot your bird.”

“Maurice,” Draco hissed. “Come.”

Maurice stayed where he was. Someone in the queue laughed. Draco, ears burning, went to find a pen.

**

“What do you think you’re doing, mate?” a man said as Draco approached the window, new application in hand.

“I’m just handing this in.”

“No,” Diane said. “Back of the queue.”

“This is absurd!” 

She looked from him to Maurice and then back. “You’re telling me.”

**

Time had stopped. That was the only explanation for why he’d been stuck in this room for so long, unmoving. 

At one point the door opened and a young woman hurried in, a clutch of papers in her hands. She took one look at Maurice, said, “Absolutely not,” and walked right back out.

“Ignore her,” he said. “She’s a fool.”

Maurice, perched on one of the fence posts that framed the queue, shifted his weight in agreement.

**

For the first time in his life, Draco truly envied Muggles. It appeared they were all so used to standing around waiting that they’d brought individual forms of entertainment. Some of them were reading books, some were yelling loudly into portable telephones. A few were mashing their thumbs against their phones and then, when it beeped, laughing loudly before hitting the buttons again. The vast majority were staring at screens the size of their palms; it took Draco quite some time to realize those were _also_ Muggle telephones and wonders would never cease.

All Draco had in his pockets were some lemon sherberts he used to bribe Scorpius when Astoria wasn’t looking and some Muggle coins in case he had to bribe someone here.

He was dreadfully bored. 

“Alright, everybody in, quick quick.” Draco automatically turned as the door opened, curious as to who would be joining them in this circle of hell. “We’ll be in and out in a — oh, dear. Well, maybe not in a jif, but hopefully it won’t take too long, right?”

Though it had been years — and apparently two children — since he’d last seen him, Draco recognized Weasley instantly. He turned around as quickly as possible and pretended to be captivated by his paperwork.

“Yup, right behind that man there, Hugo, good lad.”

Draco motioned Maurice off his post; maybe if he flapped his wings, Weasley would be put off enough to leave. It had worked on all the Muggles. When Maurice didn’t move, Draco reached out and gave him a gentle shove. 

Maurice pecked his hand before unfurling and half-hopping, half-gliding to the ground, where he unfurled his tail feathers whilst glaring up at Draco as if to say, _Are you pleased?_

Behind him there was a gasp. Draco tipped his head up and thanked whoever was listening that his plan had worked. 

“Merlin’s beard,” Weasley said. Draco heard him take a step back. “I didn’t think they allowed animals like that in here.”

“They don’t,” some annoying woman a few lanes over said.

Draco glared at her but she was uncowed.

“Birds are disgusting,” she said. 

Draco said nothing. He desperately wanted to hex her but it wouldn’t be worth it. He had no desire to deal with anyone from the Ministry on top of waiting around in this dank building all day.

“Birds are beautiful, _you’re_ disgusting.”

“Rose, that was very rude. Say you’re sorry,” Weasley said. To the woman he added, “I’m sorry, she’s just going through a phase. Loves birds. All kinds. Keeps picking up the feathers, it’s a bit of a problem actually. I find them in her pockets every time I do the laundry.”

Rose, Draco noticed, had not apologized. He would have found it amusing, but he refused to find anything related to a Weasley amusing.

Behind him, there was a squawk. Draco turned, unthinkingly, worried about Maurice, and came face to face with Weasley, who reeled back, startled.

“Malfoy?”

“Don’t do that,” Draco said to the girl, Rose, who had her arms wrapped around Maurice and was, by the looks of it, strangling him. Her eyes grew very wide but she let go. 

“What are you doing here?” Weasley asked. “Hugo, don’t climb that.”

Draco pretended not to hear him. He turned around and took a few steps forward, surprised to find there was a gap now. Progress was being made. There were only a handful of people between him and freedom. Then he would leave this place and never return again; they could charm the birds so the Muggle government thought they were wild ravens.

“Rose, leave him be.”

“Excuse me.” Rose wormed her way into the space in front of Draco. Merlin, she was half-Granger. Draco remembered first year, Granger with her hand raised, asking questions non-stop. He stared down at Rose, with her mother’s aura about her, and strongly considered leaving the building immediately. “Excuse me,” Rose said again, waiting until Draco looked down at her. “Is this your bird?”

“Yes.”

“What’s his name? Can I pet him? Please?”

“Rosie, leave Malf— leave the man alone,” Weasley said. 

“Maurice,” Draco said, and then, just to be contrary, “and yes, you may.”

“No,” Weasley said, but it was too late, Rose was already petting Maurice with a giddy, insane look in her eye. 

“Hugo, look!”

“Thanks a lot,” Weasley hissed at Draco’s back. “Now they’re going to want a pet peacock.”

Draco turned just enough so Weasley could see his grin when he said, “You’re welcome.”

“Why are you even here?”

“I’m registering the birds,” he said, “because the Muggles cocked it up as usual.”

“Oi, there are kids here.” 

Draco rolled his eyes; he was sure the Weasley children had heard far, far worse. “Why are _you_ here? Registering your animals?” He gestured to the creatures manhandling Maurice.

Weasley made such a horrid face that Draco felt a sharp burst of pride. It was apparently still incredibly satisfying to rile him up. 

“We’re paying a parking ticket,” Rose said, “and we’re not telling Mummy.”

“Secret!” Hugo added helpfully.

“A secret means we don’t tell Mum _or_ strangers we meet on the streets,” Weasley told his children, his face as red as his hair. 

They shrugged and Draco tried not to laugh. The girl was about the same age as Scorpius, he guessed, though she and her brother were far more unruly. 

He was about to scold them for stomping so loudly, as it was clearly upsetting Maurice, whose feathers were drooping, but everyone started shuffling forward again and it was in Draco’s best interest to hurry along, lest Weasley use his children as distractions and cut ahead of him.

“It’s been a while, hasn’t it,” Weasley said, as if Draco wanted to have an entire conversation with him while trapped in a musty old building while small people chased his favorite pet in circles around their feet.

Poor Maurice was going to be dizzy and then he would be sick and they were a Muggle building so Draco would have to cause a distraction just so he could vanish it.

“Let’s not,” he said to Weasley, who made the same stupid face he’d made all throughout their time at Hogwarts. The one that said _I haven’t any idea what’s wrong nor do I believe that I’m at fault_. Draco had most definitely not missed that look.

He hardly missed anyone from Hogwarts. Some days he missed Goyle, but he was always able to fix that by flooing him and listening to his inane ramblings about the aches and pains of security troll training. 

“Alright, Malfoy. Just trying to make small talk, seeing as how we’re stuck in this line. Hasn’t moved much, has it?”

“It’s moving faster now,” Draco said. He didn’t want to be talking to Weasley, but for some reason his mouth had other plans. “This morning it took twice as long.”

Weasley’s eyes bulged unattractively. He looked like a jack-o-lantern, which Scorpius had been obsessed with for an entire year after Astoria bought him a book about Muggle Halloween. “You’ve been here since this morning?” 

“There was a mistake in the paperwork, I had to fill it out again.” Draco waved his papers in the air. 

“Going to be a third time if you’re not careful.” Weasley pointed. “You’ve missed the back page.”

“Oh for —” This time Draco caught himself before he swore in front of the children. He really wanted to scream; this place was driving him mental. There were people behind Weasley now, so Draco’s vacation in hell would be prolonged now that he had to leave the line again and fill out his papers for a third time. 

He sighed, resigning himself to even more torture.

“What?” Weasley eyed him suspiciously. “You look like someone’s turned you into a ferret again.”

“Shut it, Weasley.” He wondered if he could get away with using his wand. Maybe if he transfigured it into a pen while it was in his pocket, no one would notice. Only every time he’d tried that in the past — which was, admittedly, infrequently — he’d ended up with ink leaking everywhere. To the sidebar it was.

“Do you need a pen? I think I have one, hang on.” Weasley shifted the bag that had been on his back around to his front and began rifling through it. “I swear Hermione put one in here. She hates when I take the kids out and use magic around the you-know-whos.” He jerked his head to the people around them. 

Draco rolled his eyes. Honestly, they were Muggles but they could still _see him_. “I see you’re still an idiot,” he said.

“Yeah, an idiot who’s trying to lend you a pen.” Weasley was completely unphased. “Aha! Here. I think it still works.” He swirled it on the corner of his own paperwork. “Yeah, you’re good.”

Draco took the pen, eyeing it warily. “Thank you,” he said, before turning his application over and hastily completing the last part. 

“Well I’ll be,” Weasley said, his voice soft. “I never thought I’d see day Draco Malfoy actually said thank you.” 

He was lucky Draco had a dozen boxes to tick off, or else things would have gotten ugly.

“Next. _Next_.” 

“That’s you, Malfoy.” Weasley nudged him the back. It was a little harder than called for, Draco thought. He shoved the pen back into Weasley’s hands and took a step forward, Maurice at his heels. To his surprise, both the children followed.

“No no,” he said, though that did not stop him. Whatever. If Weasley wanted to lose track of his children in a Muggle building, their disappearance would be on his head. 

“You again,” Diane said as he stepped to the window. 

“Hello.” Draco slid his paperwork across the counter. He couldn’t tell if he was imagining it, but it seemed she was disappointed to find it all in proper order. 

“And you said you’re not planning to build a farm?” she asked, her voice loud over the sound of her stamping what appeared to be every corner of his paperwork.

“I was never planning to build one. That was some moron here’s misinterpretation!” 

She stopped what she was doing and leveled a glare at him. “Excuse me?”

For a moment all sound fell away. Draco could see clearly the path that ended with his paperwork in the bin and him filling out blank pages again. 

“No,” he said, swallowing. “No farm.” 

“Mm-hmm.” She stamped one final page — so inefficient, he thought — and then smashed her fingers against several of the buttons on the alphabet board in front of her. “Sign there.”

He looked around. She hadn’t given him back any of his papers. “What am I signing?” 

“You’re telling the council that you are _not_ starting a farm but that the birds _are_ yours. This is an official document and as such it is legally binding.” She said it robotically, like it was something she said six dozen times a day.

“I understand that,” Draco said. He wasn’t stupid. He gestured to the empty space between them with the chained-up pen. “What am I meant to sign?”

Diane sighed and leaned forward, tapping the small glowing box in front of him. “Here.”

Draco picked up a different pen — this didn’t have a point. Or ink. Strange — and wrote his name. Nothing happened. 

“Wait,” Diane said, and started pressing the buttons in front of her once more.

“BYE, MISTER!” Hugo and Rose yelled, from literally a half meter from Draco. He reeled back. “BYE, MAURICE!”

“Inside voices,” Weasley said. His hands were empty now, paperwork gone. Of course. It figured that he got in and out, no hassle at all. Draco would probably still be here when the ice caps had melted and the oceans swallowed Britain whole. “Take care, then.”

Draco nodded, grateful for the distraction that was Denise pointing for him to sign again. This time, she spun a box around. He gaped, appalled that she would have a telly in there. No wonder this whole process was taking sixteen years longer than anticipated.

He opened his mouth, about to demand to speak to her supervisor, when his signature appeared on her screen, below an entire wall of text that he couldn’t quite read. 

“Okay?” 

He nodded, assuming it was. Whatever got him out of here. By the door, Weasley’s children were clamoring for a stop at the ice cream shop before they headed home. 

“Oh, you think we should, do you?” Weasley asked them, laughing as they shouted their approval. “Even though your mum will kill me if she finds out.” The children shouted nonsense; Draco was appalled. Scorpius would never behave like that, not in a million years. But Weasley apparently held his children to no such standards. “I guess we’re keeping all sorts of secrets today.”

“Sir?” Denise said, sounding annoyed.

“What?” 

“I said you can pay by cash, cheque, or credit.” 

“Oh, sorry.” Draco knew the answer to this one. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a handful of Muggle money. “How much was it again?”

“You want to pay in coins?” Diane closed her eyes for one very long moment. When she opened them again, she smiled. Draco was certain it meant she was plotting his murder. “Fantastic.”

**

The weather had shifted by the time Draco left the building; for once, the sun was surprisingly strong. 

It felt nice, at least momentarily. Soon he would get overly warm and start to burn, but for right now, after what was apparently an entire day lost to one monstrously long queue… It wasn’t terrible.

Maybe he would stop for ice cream before apparating home. To bring back for Scorpius, of course. And for Maurice, since he had waited so patiently all day and had to endure being chased by children and insulted by Muggles.

And if it made sense for Draco to grab himself a Cornetto, too, well. It had been a very long, taxing day, and they were the only good thing Muggles had ever invented, and he deserved something nice.


End file.
